


so this is me, trying to find your level

by amorremanet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Biblical References, Communication, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Poetry, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, tumblr: deancaspoetryweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Talk to me—I just want to understand, for fucking once.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	so this is me, trying to find your level

**Author's Note:**

> Written for deancaspoetryweek and crossposted [to tumblr](http://amorremanet.tumblr.com/post/55812468960/so-this-is-me-trying-to-find-your-level).

If you climbed up on a cross  
and donned a crown of thorns,  
if you tried to make yourself the  
sacrificial lion all over again, I'd  
take you down and clutch you close,  
I'd spill our pieta over the surface of  
the deep so everyone could see it.

I placed you as a seal upon my heart—  
well, technically, you placed yourself a  
seal upon my upper arm, but that's just  
semantics and it'll get us nowhere slowly—  
but you don't have a heart to place me on,  
just a mind to focus on me sometimes, and  
when you flutter away into the whirlwind and  
void, do you even think of me at all?

You had your reasons for deceiving me,  
but I was still deceived, left kicking about in  
my own blood, thrown out like trash in a series  
of open fields—from the day she died, I was  
despised, built up and broken and made to be  
left behind by everyone who loves me—and you  
overpowered me, you prevailed, you left me in  
the desert with my love shut up, a wildfire in my  
bones, searing your name through my soul,  
always always licking me with tongues of flame.

I can only speak one of the tongues of men, and I  
can't speak in the tongues of angels, and still I have  
not love—so what's Saint Paul got to say for me?  
Prophecies are just translations, and the you I know  
comes through several glasses darkly, a reflection of  
a reflection, a face that belongs to someone else but  
that you've gotten used to at this point. But still, I know  
you—implicitly, I know you, I know the way you rustle  
through the leaves outside my window, I know the  
knife's-edge glint behind your battle-born eyes.

Look, man, I'm not trying to throw stones here,  
neither of us has any right to that, if you ask me,  
but I just want to understand why the right place  
for you is never where I'm at, why we're never  
suited to each other in a way where we can be together,  
why I'm always getting left behind because you love me.  
Talk to me—I just want to understand, for fucking once.


End file.
